


Without You

by Margot_Lescargot



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Angst, Ettersberg (Rivers of London), Friendship, Gen, Spoilers for Foxglove Summer, possible PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 08:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21296570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Margot_Lescargot/pseuds/Margot_Lescargot
Summary: Some years later, Nightingale remembers getting Mellenby on the glider at Ettersberg.
Relationships: Thomas Nightingale & Molly
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	Without You

**Author's Note:**

> It's fairly obvious where the title of this is taken from. I do urge you to listen to Harry Nilsson's version of Without You as you read this, if you possibly can, to really ramp up the angst levels.  
Thanks to PerchingOwl for beta.

London, March 1972 

Nightingale strode through the atrium towards the back of the Folly, and descended the stairs to the kitchen.

‘Molly, do you have those-‘ He stopped on the threshold. Molly had on the new wireless he had bought for her. Well, new was perhaps an exaggeration; she had indicated a hankering some years ago, and he had relented. He had no time for the new music – the very new music since the middle of the last decade – but Molly seemed to enjoy it. And he had to admit, its intrusion into his daily life bothered him less these days than it had. Since he had last seen Hugh in town, some – what – five years ago? more? - it was difficult to keep track - he had felt himself beginning to revivify and had been forced, reluctantly, to admit that the changes he had thought were external – in London, in what were now being called the “Swinging Sixties” - were in fact also happening to him. He felt… less stiff, like his joints were loosening, and the creases around his eyes and his mouth appeared to be smoothing out slowly. And, it was hard to articulate even to himself, he felt, yes, more _alive_.

He couldn’t say, though, that it had deepened his appreciation for the new music.

And so it was strange that, as he stepped into the kitchen, the words he heard coming from the wireless made him almost lose his step.

“.._I can’t forget this evening, or your face when you were leaving_..”

The voice was plaintive, but strong. Nightingale stood stock still and suddenly could not catch his breath.

“.._in your eyes your sorrow shows_..”

For whatever reason, something in the words, and the sentiment, sent him straight back to the worst place he had ever been. Somewhere he had fought, bargained, and pleaded, never to have to return to.

It was raining. And he was, again, trying to persuade David onto the glider.

He sees David stumble and then stagger as they make their way across the uneven ground. He sees how he grabs him by the elbow as the sky lights up behind them and the bunker begins to collapse in on itself, and virtually drag him to the makeshift launch area. He sees how unfocused David has become, almost incoherent, at seeing the horrifying cost of achieving what he had wanted so badly. He’s probably in shock, but Nightingale has no more time for him, now that others have greater need.

‘David. This is what you wanted. This is what you came here for. We have it. We need to leave. You need to leave.’

He has to get back, cover the men still down there.

‘David. You have to go. _Now_.’

David shakes his head, seeming confused as to where he is.

‘Now,’ he urges. ‘Get on.’

Oswald, injured, but one of the last ones on, and closest to the exit, reaches out a hand. ‘Come along Mellenby. Blighty won’t wait forever.’

The use of his surname seems to shake something loose. David’s eyes clear and he looks about himself, finally. He sees the filing cabinets already stowed and steps aboard. The pilot makes ready to take off – there are explosions still, but of lesser frequency as the bunker starts to burn in earnest. David leans out of the open window, and holds out a hand to Nightingale.

‘See you at the night gate.’

Nightingale grasps it. ‘See you at the night gate.’

There is a moment, the briefest of moments, when their hands are clasped together and Nightingale is close enough to see the reflection of the fire behind him in David’s eyes. His eyes are focused now, and the determination is back. Nightingale nods, steps back, then the glider is gone, and he watches it rise, thankfully, into the skies.

Nightingale comes to himself again, gulping great lungfuls of air as if he has been underwater. He registers that he is sitting in one of the chairs at Molly’s kitchen table. The breaths that he takes soon, inevitably, become racking sobs which threaten to tear his chest apart. In time, however, they subside, and when the worst is over, he realises that there is a hand – slim but strong – on his shoulder, steadying him. He doesn’t know how long it has been there.

He places his own hand over it, gratefully, and holds on as he strives to bring his breathing under control.


End file.
